From The Case Files Of Hermione: Genius
by mademoiselle-petal
Summary: An affectionate parody, poking fun at all the cliches that pop up so often in my favourite 'ship: SSHG.


Warnings: Firstly, there is a tiny bit of bad language in this story, but it's pretty mild really. Only very young or very sheltered people will be offended by it...and they shouldn't be here anyway. So they should just go away now.

There is also a character death in the story, but the aforementioned death is so very stupid and generally not disturbing that if it upsets you...well I pity you, basically. Just pull yourself together.

Also, there are some drug references. ...Drugs are bad, kids. Just say no.

Lastly, and most importantly, I would like to warn you all that the following story contains graphic depictions of poodles. If you are offended by the portrayal, either direct or implied, of poodles; I warn you to read no further! I am aware that I may upset some people, but this is my art...and as an Australian, I am upholding my not-explicitly-stated-but-sort-of-in-a-way-implied constitutional right to free speech. Just don't say I didn't warn you, when you're rolling around on the floor, clutching at your eyes, howling about litigation and unable to remove the image of a small, yappy, be-ribboned, curly-haired poodle from your mind. I did warn you. So shut up.

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. You moron.

Now go! Read the story! Feel free to leave kind words, proposals of marriage, offers of large sums of money etc in your review. Please send all flames to someone else. It will confuse them greatly, and no doubt be very amusing. ...And one last warning: this is stupid. Don't say you weren't warned....

**From the Case Files of Hermione Granger, Genius**

Hermione Granger was a smart girl. Not just regular smart, though...I mean, like, scarily intelligent. This was a girl whose idea of a fun weekend was to sit in her room and try to come up with a unifying theory for physics. It wasn't surprising, then, that the girl didn't have many friends. The real problem was that Hermione knew how smart she was - and wanted everyone else to know it too. This meant that she used a lot of long words, and was generally patronising, bossy and boring.

Hermione knew a lot of things, you see, but unfortunately she didn't always know when to shut up.

Her best friends Harry and Ron were well aware of Hermione's shortcomings, but usually tolerated her. She may have been boring and a bit arrogant, but she had her uses. For Harry, she provided a kind of mother figure whose constant nagging made him feel secure. (Harry's strange childhood had left him with a whole swag of interesting neuroses and hang-ups, including a terrible thirst for attention that had begun to manifest itself as frequent temper tantrums accompanied by a lot of wailing, scar-clutching and excessive capitalisation.)

As for Ron...well the boy was as thick as two short planks, and had come to enjoy a rather parasitic relationship with Hermione, whereby he stayed very close to her and tried to leech off any cleverness that she might not be using. It didn't work, but Hermione's constant presence served to keep him out of trouble most of the time.

Ron didn't bring much to the relationship himself; he just clung to Hermione like a lovesick limpet. Which he was, really: a stupid, red-haired, lovesick limpet. Luckily Hermione had got very good at pretending he wasn't there, except when she needed someone to argue with to remind her of her own intellectual superiority.

All in all, the three of them had developed a sort of friendship of convenience, characterised by a lot of conversations in which no one really listened to anyone else much at all. ...Which made what happened that fateful day in October of seventh year all the easier to deal with.

Ron died.

It was Hermione who found him. It was just before the start of their first class, and she was just leaving the library. In her arms she held a pile of books with very intelligent-sounding titles which were weighing her down something awful. She was deep in thought about something, as clever people often are, when she felt her foot hit something solid lying on the floor. Looking down, she saw that that something was actually Ron.

Hermione thought about this. She knew that Ron was supposed to be heading for class...Potions, to be exact. She also knew that when a person is supposed to be heading to class, it is never a good idea for them to be lying about in hallways, especially since people might trip over them. So basically, Hermione decided that lying in the hallway was just an all-round bad idea, and resolved to tell Ron just that.

'Ron,' she said, 'I have come to the conclusion that lying about in the hallway is just basically an all-round bad idea. Stop it.'

To emphasise her point, she kicked him sharply in the side. Neither the statement nor the kick elicited any response, though, so Hermione bent down to give Ron a good talking-to. As she leant closer to his face she couldn't help but notice that he was looking rather, well...dead.

His skin was green-tinged, his eyes wide and bulging, and his was mouth twisted into a surprised half grimace. Hermione felt gingerly for a pulse on his clammy neck but found none. Sighing resignedly, and wishing there were a spell for this sort of thing, she leant down to administer CPR. As she lowered her mouth to his, though, she noticed a funny smell lingering about his lips...sort of sickly sweet like cough syrup. She also noticed, close up, that there was a shiny, sticky looking, pink glob of something in the corner of his horribly twisted lips.

Hermione's first thought was 'poison'. Her second thought was 'oh thank god, now I have an excuse not to do CPR, wouldn't want to poison myself.' If Ron had been watching this from the spirit world, he would undoubtedly have been very upset to realise that he had just missed his very last chance for a snog with Hermione.

After looking up to make sure there was no one around to see her, Hermione reached into her satchel and pulled out an empty vial from her potions kit and a cotton bud from her toiletries purse. She carefully scooped a bit of the sticky glob from Ron's mouth into the vial, corked it and tucked it into her robes. This done, she stood up and surveyed the scene; noting the location of the body, its position on the floor, as well as the fact that Ron had apparently put his shoes on the wrong feet AGAIN.

Initial investigation complete, Hermione tripped off merrily to the headmasters office to break the news that one of his students had apparently been murdered...well, either that or had dropped dead while eating sweets. In any case, she figured that Dumbledore would probably want to know. At the door to his office she flashed her Head Girl's badge at the gargoyle and was let in.

The headmaster was seated behind his desk, deep in thought about something, as wise old wizards often are. As Hermione approached his desk he called out in a small voice,

'Harry...is that you Harry? Oh, it's you. Harry's friend. What do you want? Has something happened to Harry?'

'Er, the name's Hermione Granger, Headmaster. You know...Head Girl? Smartest witch to attend Hogwarts in a century?'

'Yes, yes,' replied Dumbledore impatiently. 'I know who you are, you're Harry's friend. Now what do you want?'

'Well the thing is, sir, that I found Ron dead in one of the hallways.'

'Ron...who's Ron? Oh, you mean that redhead. Harry's friend.'

'Yes, that Ron,' replied Hermione. 'He's still lying there, down the hall from here, second corridor on the right. You might want to send Mr. Filch to collect the body. Oh...and figure out how he died, too, I guess.' Her anxiety at being late to class was beginning to get the better of her, and she turned to leave.

'Now, I'm going to be late for Potions, so I'd best be off. Bye!' she shouted over her shoulder as she dashed out the door.

By the time she reached the dungeons, Hermione was less than a minute late. Surveying the classroom before entering, she noted three conspicuous absences: Ron (obviously), Neville Longbottom and - most surprisingly - Professor Snape. She supposed that Neville could be unwell, even though he had seemed fine at breakfast, but as for Professor Snape...well it was literally unheard of for him to be late to a class. He was an absolute stickler for punctuality, having been known to give people detention for being 28 seconds late. For him to be late himself was an event worthy of _Hogwarts: A History._

Bemused, Hermione shrugged and trotted off to take her normal seat between Harry and...well between Harry and an empty chair today.

'Where's Ron?' asked Harry.

'What...oh, he's dead,' stated Hermione as she began pulling out her books.

'Oh no!' cried Harry. 'It has begun! The persecution! Damn you Voldemort...damn you!!'

Hermione was worried that he was about to break into caps locks, but instead he simply sobbed and banged on the desk. She let him go for a minute or two, before tapping him on the shoulder and saying softly,

'Harry...? Now I know you think this is about you...'

'It's always about me!' wailed Harry. 'I'm the hero!'

Hermione ignored this and continued,

'...But if you think about it, can't you come up with any _other _reasons why someone might want Ron dead?'

'Actually,' replied Harry, with a small hiccup as his sobs subsided, 'now that you mention it, I can think of at least fifteen reasons why I wanted to kill him, and I was his best friend...He was loud, uncouth, tactless, smelly...'

But before Harry could conclude his less-than-flattering eulogy, the door burst open and there in the doorway stood a trembling Neville and a thunderous looking Professor Snape.

'Neville looks like he's about to piss himself!' whispered Harry. 'I mean metaphorically, of course.'

'That's not a metaphor, Harry,' Hermione whispered back. 'If you'd said...um...something like, his fear is a pair of wet pants, that would be metaphorical.'

'Gotcha,' replied Harry.

'Whereas,' continued Hermione, if you'd said his fear is _like _a...'

'I said GOTCHA,' hissed Harry, a bit too loudly.

They both looked up guiltily, fully expecting to see a black mass of smirk bearing down on them, poised to deduct points. Miraculously, though, they saw that Professor Snape hadn't heard them at all. He was engaged in a muttered argument with...Neville? How odd. Even odder was the fact that Neville was not evacuating his bowels in fear, but standing his ground as he faced the Potions Master and apparently even answering back. (Although he was still trembling so hard that it was surprising he could get words out.)

As Hermione and Harry watched, Neville went so far as to turn his back on Snape mid-sentence and stride back to his chair, chin jutted out fiercely. The effect was pretty much ruined by the fact that he tripped over his own foot halfway to his chair, but still...what was going on here?

_Strange,_ thought Hermione.

Snape, too, stalked back to his chair, where he sat rubbing his temples with an aggrieved expression. Draco Malfoy tentatively raised a hand.

'Uh, sir?' he ventured, 'Are you OK?'

'Shut your mouth, you snivelling sycophant,' snarled Snape. 'If I wanted you to crawl up my arse I'd ask, understood?'

'But siiiirrr...!' whined Draco, shocked.

'No buts,' Snape snapped. 'You're a pathetic ferret. Get out of my sight.' Draco remained where he was; mouth hanging open. 'NOW!' roared Snape, and Draco practically fell out of his chair before running towards the door. Snape glared at the remainder of the class. 'And the rest of you can get out too. Go on, get out of here before I feed you all to Hagrid's flesh-eating zombie poodles.'

Silently, the rest of the students slowly shuffled out of the room towards the Great Hall. No one knew quite what was going on, but it was a lovely, sunny day – perfect for quidditch – and frankly no one really cared whether Snape lived or died, let alone why he was in such a particularly bad mood that day. With the exception of the newly bereaved Harry and Hermione, the students were all much more concerned with chasing flying objects.

Instead of returning to their common room, though, as would have been logical, Hermione and Harry remained in the Great Hall. Perhaps the author was still coming to terms with the fact that her story would not contain any Yule-Ball scene, and wanted a chance for her characters to linger in the only place where characters' hairstyles could be legitimately described in painful detail...if only to torture herself with thoughts of what might have been. Ohhh, the possibilities....ahem. Sorry. Anyway...

The hall was empty. This was a considerable contrast with the previous year – Hermione's sixth year – which had seen a sudden, inexplicable influx of almost eight thousand American exchange students. Nearly all of them had been girls; and girls with so much hair that it had become hard to move in the Great Hall without bumping into a shiny wall of waist-length, luridly coloured tresses.

For some, perhaps related, reason most of these new students had been in Hermione's Potions class. It had got to the point where nearly all of the original class was forced to brew their potions in a makeshift lab in the corridor outside the classroom. Inside, Professor Snape was left to fight off the sparkly, hairy, squealing mass of girls by any means necessary.

Everything had quieted down considerably in second term, though...around the time that Professor Snape could often be seen prowling the halls with a muggle shotgun over one shoulder and a shovel in hand. When anybody had questioned Snape over his possession of a muggle weapon, he had simply growled, 'damn Sue powers...only brute force can kill these cretins...'

Dumbledore had chosen to ignore this potentially incriminating statement. Perhaps the old man was getting sick of the fact that every third exchange student claimed to be either a close relative of his, or his love-child.

Not long after Snape's apparent rifle-rampage and the disappearance of every American from school grounds, a hooded, greasy stranger in a pub had sold Hagrid a very large consignment of blood and bone for the school gardens. The school roses had been particularly sparkly ever since. Hermione idly wondered if this explained why many of the roses had started to insist on being called 'Serenity'...

.... Until a sharp dig in the ribs from Harry brought her out of her reverie.

'Why have you stopped walking?' he asked.

'Sorry,' muttered Hermione, 'I was having a flashback about all those exchange students last year.'

'Oh yeah,' said Harry with interest, 'so how is that relevant?'

'Actually it wasn't relevant at all,' said Hermione as they started to pace the hall again.

Right at that moment, a rather large, red herring was seen to go floating across the enchanted ceiling. Most of the people in the hall just politely ignored it, though, and waited for the page break.

'Well Harry,' said Hermione as they reached the end of the hall and turned around to pace across it again, 'I suppose we ought to start investigating the suspects.

'What?' said Harry.

'The suspects for Ron's murder,' explained Hermione patiently.

'What?' repeated Harry, his brow furrowed in confusion. It looked particularly painful, so Hermione simply remained silent for a few moments, waiting for Harry to forget what he had been asking. Sure enough, his face soon settled back into its usual expression: Harry's patented 'angsty martyr' look.

'You know,' said Hermione thoughtfully, 'I really think we ought to investigate Professor Snape.'

'Wha-' began Harry, but Hermione cut him off.

Look Harry,' she said tersely, ' if it's not too much trouble, could you just _pretend _to know what I'm talking about for a moment? You could just smile and nod. It would save me the trouble of having to have long internal monologues in order to sustain a purposeful narrative.'

'Erm...' said Harry, before giving in with a smile and a couple of nods.

'Thanks,' said Hermione, and continued. 'I just think there's something suspicious about Snape.'

'Why Snape?' asked Harry, suddenly and inexplicably lucid. 'Surely it would be really stupid for him to kill a student?'

'Don't be difficult Harry,' snapped Hermione, 'Snape has to feature. It's compulsory. From now on he'll be showing up in nearly every scene, so you'd better get used to it.'

Sure enough, at that moment Snape walked across the hall, snarling and baring his crooked teeth at students as he went. One first year Hufflepuff wasn't quick enough to get out of Snape's way, and sustained a nasty bite on the leg as well as getting covered in Snape's hair-grease. To Harry's horror, though, Hermione appeared to be watching Snape with something akin to desire in her eyes.

'You know,' she said softly, 'I think he's actually quite handsome.'

'Ugh!' cried Harry. 'No he's not! He's repulsive!'

'Don't be silly, Harry,' Hermione said. 'You're just viewing him through the eyes of an adolescent boy. From an unbiased, female perspective he's actually quite handsome, in a dark, brooding kind of way.'

'Uh, no,' said Harry, watching the grease from Snape's hair drip down the sallow skin of his long, hooked nose, 'he's actually just ugly. Plus he's a nasty git.'

'Hmmm,' said Hermione regretfully, 'I guess you've got me there. The man is a nasty bastard. Still...those billowing robes...' She sighed dreamily.

'Well I don't think its right for you to look at him like that,' said Harry staunchly. 'After all, you're only sixteen.'

'Actually Harry, I'm twenty-four,' replied Hermione absent-mindedly, still gazing at Snape. Harry gave her an incredulous look and she continued. 'It was all that time-turner use in third year, you see. I'm ever so much older now.'

'But surely that only added on a few weeks at the most?' said Harry in consternation.

'Look Harry,' snapped Hermione, 'who's more intelligent: you or me?'

'You,' replied Harry with confidence.

'So who's more likely to be right?'

'Um...you?'

'Correct,' stated Hermione with a supercilious smile. 'So I'm twenty-four, ok? Deal with it.'

'But I still don't understand!' cried Harry. 'I'm so confused!'

'That's alright,' said Hermione. 'You don't need to understand what's going on. We know from experience that the plot still advances itself quite nicely without you ever figuring anything out, so you might as well just concentrate on feeling persecuted.'

'Alright then,' said Harry. He sounded unsure; but he still managed a feeble cry of 'Voldemort killed my parents!' and a small fist-shake.

'Well done,' said Hermione kindly, before catching a glimpse of Professor Snape heading towards the front entrance of the castle. She clutched at Harry's arm. 'Look over there!' she whispered, 'Professor Snape is leaving the castle! And it's night-time!'

'But how can it be night-time?' whimpered Harry, totally confused and upset by the lack of continuity. 'We only just had first period!'

At that very moment, Draco Malfoy sauntered into the room and said something that was nasty and yet devastatingly sexy at the same time, and everyone was distracted enough not to notice the enchanted ceiling of the hall turn suddenly and totally dark, signaling nightfall. Harry just cried in confusion.

As she watched Snape slipping out the front doors, Hermione suddenly remembered something very convenient. 'Harry!' she whispered. 'I just very conveniently remembered that Professor Snape visits the Hog's Head every Thursday night! And it's Thursday today!'

'How do you know that?' whispered Harry, with a suspicious look at Hermione. She blushed, and looked furtively at the ground.

'It's only stalking if you get caught,' she muttered. 'But he's getting away! Quickly, get under your invisibility cloak and we'll follow him.'

Harry opened his mouth to enquire as to why Hermione knew Snape's schedule and was carrying the invisibility cloak; but then shut it again as he decided that he didn't really want to know. He simply ducked under the cloak with Hermione, and together they trotted out the doors and down the path to Hogsmeade.

By the time Hermione and Harry reached the Hog's Head, Snape was already seated at the bar, drink in hand. He was being harassed by a rather excited looking brunette who was trying to get Snape to sing her copy of _Self Insertion in Fiction: A Beginner's Guide._ Her excessive chirpiness was evidently too much for Snape, though, as he threw an ashtray at her head. It made contact with a loud 'thud', and the girl ran away sobbing and shrieking about revenge, biro in hand.

Seconds later, a pack of pointy-fanged, snarling poodles ran into the room, yapping menacingly, to gnaw at Snape's ankles. They didn't manage to do much damage before he kicked them away, but they did chew his socks clean off. Snape just shrugged and ordered another whiskey.

Harry looked at Hermione. They were both still under the cloak, but Hermione was sniffing the air with a suspicious look on her face. 'This place smells really strongly of goats,' she said. 'I cant help but feel that it might be significant in some way...perhaps it's a clue...'

'Why would it be a clue?' scoffed Harry. 'Of course something irrelevant like that isn't going to turn out to be highly significant later. That's just silly.'

Hermione stared at him incredulously. 'You really don't pay any attention, do you?' she asked, in total awe of Harry's obtuseness. He didn't answer, though, so she simply pulled up a goat for them both to sit on. 'All there is to do now is wait for Snape to get so utterly pissed that he firstly fails to recognise me as a student, and secondly tells me everything he knows about Ron's murder,' said Hermione confidently. Harry didn't answer. He was busy braiding the hair of their goat-stool. Hermione stifled an exasperated sigh, and settled back to wait.

She watched patiently as Professor Snape made his way through four more whiskeys. He was taking his time, though, and the goat was starting to shift restlessly beneath them, so Hermione hid Harry under a goat in the corner and crept up behind Professor Snape; dropping a Rohypnol tablet into his drink while he looked the other way. She stood back and watched as he took another sip. Within a few minutes he had drained the drink, his head had started to loll slightly, and he looked like he might fall off his goat at any moment. Success!

Hermione slipped the invisibility cloak off her shoulders and hung it over the horns of a nearby goat, before approaching the inebriated Professor. He was staring at her intensely, albeit with slightly crossed eyes, and her pulse quickened slightly. She struggled to remain calm, though; and deliberately ignored him as she gestured the barman over to order a vodka and orange.

'You're not allowed to drink that,' stated Professor Snape as the drink arrived. Hermione whipped her head round to look at him in alarm...he wasn't supposed to recognise her.... But luckily he appeared to be unconcerned. She decided to follow his lead. He wouldn't remember in the morning anyway...

'All the students drink alcohol, Professor,' she stated. 'We just transfigure pumpkin juice into tequila, and have wild Mexican Parties. We also transfigure aspirin tablets into psychedelic substances to make History of Magic class bearable. Frankly, I don't understand why you pay for all your drinks instead of buying one and then transfiguring the rest when the barman isn't looking.' To demonstrate this, she downed her drink in one gulp, then furtively transfigured a coaster into another vodka and orange.

'But...um,' said Snape; his eloquence evaporated by the combination of Rohypnol and whiskey, 'you're supposed to be smart. Surely drug use isn't smart?'

'Of course it is, silly,' smiled Hermione. 'How do you think I stay awake to study so much? It's all down to Amphetamines...if I need to, I can stay awake for three days straight. It's fantastic! And if there are any adverse physical effects, well surely I can just transfigure myself a new body?'

Over in the corner, Harry was quietly beating his head against a wall; presumably venting his frustration over living in a world with an absolute lack of internal logic.

'_Then...why...do...we...need...money!??'_ he was wailing. No one answered. They were all distracted by the interesting character development going on at the bar.

Hermione had decided that the best way to get Snape to open up was to engage him in small talk, then slip in a question like: _so Professor...killed any students lately? _She started off, though, by saying 'So what brings you here tonight, Professor Snape?'

'I am drowning my sorrows,' he replied imperiously.

'You have sorrows?' asked Hermione, breathlessly; imagining a life filled with tragedy, heartbreak, and desolate, windswept moors.

Snape didn't answer; he was busy staring into space.

'Professor?' prompted Hermione loudly, causing Snape to jump violently and bang his elbow on the bar. He rubbed at it sulkily before picking up his glass to squint into the bottom. Empty. Hermione hurriedly transfigured a nearby goat into another whiskey and handed it to her professor. He looked torn between telling her to insert it where it probably wouldn't fit, and accepting it. Eventually he settled on the latter, but did so with a fierce glare so as to preserve his reputation.

'So Professor,' continued Hermione, 'you were about to tell me about your tragic life of neglect and sorrow...errr...I mean, your life.'

'Ah yes.' Said Snape. 'Well...let's see...my father wasn't very nice at all.'

'Ahhh,' said Hermione sagely, 'I expect he abused you before forcing you to learn the Dark arts then killing himself; leaving you to inherit a huge fortune and an imposing Victorian mansion, as well as several emotional scars.'

'Actually, he was a public servant,' replied Snape. 'The pay was pitiful, and made him terribly cranky. He used to shout quite a lot.'

'Oh,' replied Hermione, looking crestfallen.

'And school was horrible,' continued Snape, 'I didn't have any friends.'

'But didn't you befriend Lucius Malfoy, who delivered you to Voldemort and coreced you into becoming a Deatheater?' asked Hermione.

Snape looked confused. 'Lucius Malfoy is eight years older than me,' he replied. 'We weren't even at school together.' Hermione looked disappointed. 'I think the real reason I didn't have any friends,' continued Snape, 'was because I used to cry all the time.'

Unable to think of a suitable reply to this, Hermione simply nodded dumbly. Snape looked up from his whiskey to survey Hermione through slightly narrowed eyes.

'Come to think of it,' he murmured suspiciously, ' I can't think why I'm telling you all of this...'

Hermione gulped, but luckily Snape's moment of lucidity passed as quickly as it had arrived. Snape's eyes softened again as he returned his gaze to the bar and continued to chug down the whiskey. Hermione took this opportunity to have a good look at the man. In his inebriated state his movements had loosened and his expression was, for once, unguarded.

The story he had told her – while it hadn't been the Bronte-esque angst-fest she had hoped for – had been quite sad. His countenance had become almost childlike, now, and she smiled fondly at him as he slopped whiskey down his front. He frowned and dabbed at his shirt with the barmat, before missing and poking himself in the eye. Hermione chuckled in an affectionate manner as he clutched at his eye and whimpered.

'I always knew you were a big softy under all that nastiness, Professor,' she said softly as she patted his shoulder. 'Whenever I see you destroying Neville's fragile psyche purely for personal satisfaction, or picking on Harry just because you disliked his dead father, I think to myself, there's a man who obviously has a warm, fuzzy side just crying out to be expressed. All he really needs is love. And marriage, obviously. And preferably lots of babies too. In any case, it's obvious that what you need is someone to nag you and boss you around...errr...I mean, be nice to you.'

Snape sat up slowly, and looked at Hermione intensely, through hooded eyes. (When I say hooded eyes, by the way, I don't mean like they literally had little hoods on them. I mean...actually, come to think of it, I don't know what that expression means. But it sounds good, and that's all that matters, right?)

Hermione looked back into his black eyes, and suddenly her mind was flooded with similes. His eyes were black like the night sky. Black like charcoal. Black like that stuff that grows between shower tiles when you don't clean them for ages. Hermione felt like she was falling and tumbling into the depths of his eyes...until she realised that it was just the goat she was sitting on shifting its weight. Nonetheless, she felt like she was seeing Snape in a totally new light. He was not just a sex god, he was....a wonderful, lovely, caring man.

It was all too much. Hermione fell off her goat.

'Are you alright?' asked Professor Snape, peering down at Hermione as she lay sprawled on the floor.

'I'm fine,' replied Hermione in a low voice.

Over in his corner, Harry was confused. Hermione was looking at Professor Snape with an expression similar to the one Ron used to get on his face just seconds before he devoured an entire plate of potatoes at once. ...She looked hungry and sort of deranged at the same time. As he watched, Hermione hauled herself off the floor and dashed furtively back over to Harry.

'Harry, I've thought of a great plan to get the truth out of Professor Snape,' she whispered. 'I'll meet you back at Hogwarts, ok?'

'But Hermione,' whispered Harry frantically, 'you won't have an invisibility cloak. It isn't safe!'

'That's ok,' said Hermione, 'I'll just apparate back into the school.'

'Buuut...but...you said...Hogwarts: A History....uhhh! It's not possible!' cried Harry, tears filling his eyes.

'Yeah well, I never told you this Harry, but I actually have these super powers that that let me do things like control the elements and be a quadruple animagus and have fantastic hair and apparate wherever I want. So I'll just apparate back and I'll just see you tomorrow at breakfast.'

'Ok, but before you go, tell me your plan,' replied Harry.

'Weeeelll,' said Hermione, shuffling her feet and looking uncomfortable, 'erm, sometimes people can be very secretive when...um, when their clothes are done up too tightly...and you might have noticed that Professor Snape's shirt is looking pretty restrictive, and as for his pants...well...'

'Hermione!' interrupted Harry, 'Do I really want to know this?'

'Probably not,' replied Hermione truthfully.

'Righto then,' said Harry with false cheeriness. 'I guess I'll see you tomorrow.' And with that he scurried away.

Hermione shrugged at Harry's fast-retreating back, then turned around to saunter over to the bar again. The Rohypnol had obviously got the better of Snape, as he was currently slumped over his goat, muttering and drooling.

'Bartender!' cried Hermione gleefully. 'This man is far too drunk to go home. Can we...err, I mean he...have a room please?'

A room was paid for, and a mobilicorpus charm saw to getting Snape up the stairs. She laid him out on the bed and pointed her wand at him. _Soberioso!_ she cried, which isn't really Latin but worked anyway, and Snape sat up, blinking.

'What?! Where am I? And what in the name of all that is holy are you doing here, Miss Granger?' he cried, his face twisted in anger. This only turned Hermione on even more, and she let out a long, low growl before pouncing on Snape.

Before he could protest, Hermione's tongue was down his throat; and being a well-bred man he knew better than to talk with his mouth full.

By the time Snape gathered himself enough to speak ten minutes later, he was stark naked and being pinned to the bed by an equally naked witch.

'Erm, Hermione?' he said uncertainly.

'That's Miss Granger to you, Professor' she snapped as she busily tied his hands to the bedposts.

'You can call me Severus...' he ventured.

'Shut up, Professor, or I'll have to spank you,' she growled.

Snape gulped. 'Yes, Miss Granger,' he whispered. 'Sorry.'

The next morning, Hermione marched into breakfast with an absolutely thunderous look on her face. She stalked up to the Gryffindor table, walking right past her own seat and over to stand behind Neville.

'NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!' she screeched.

'Um...y-yes, Hermione?' stuttered Neville, trembling.

'Professor Snape has told me the whole story!' announced Hermione. 'Your terrible secret is out. In a fit of post coital cuddling...err, I mean honesty, Snape told me that YOU killed Ron Weasley!'

Everyone gasped.

'Neville!' cried Harry in horror. 'You killed my best friend! Why?...Did Voldemort put you up to this?'

'N-no,' said Neville, trembling. 'I'm sorry Harry. It was me...but I did it because...'

'Yes?' said Hermione fiercely.

'...Because I was jealous of Ron.'

'But why?' cried Harry.

'Because it was obvious that he was going to get to shag Hermione,' said Neville sadly. 'All that arguing was clearly just foreplay...but...the thing is, _I_ wanted to shag Hermione.'

'Hermione gasped. 'Neville!' she cried, outraged. 'How dare you! HOW DARE YOU?! All the time we've known each other, you've done nothing but be kind and friendly and supportive and nice to my friends...and you think I would sleep with you?!'

'Um...' said Neville, clearly confused, but Hermione wasn't finished.

'Don't you know that a girl wants a man who will belittle her and criticise her physical appearance and patronise her and terrorise her friends? A man who hangs around with murderers and megalomaniacs? A man like...Professor Snape!' Neville gaped unattractively. 'You see,' continued Hermione, 'I can never love you, Neville, because I'm in love with my Potions Professor!'

The Great Hall was suddenly in uproar; the air echoing with mingled cries of shock and disgust. Up at the head table, though, Dumbledore stood up and roared 'QUIET!'

Everyone was immediately silent. Dumbledore began to speak.

'Girls and boys,' he said in a quieter voice, 'I would like to announce that I give Miss Granger my blessing. She is twenty-four years old, after all, and thus old enough to make her own decisions. As headmaster, I'm positively delighted that she has chosen to sleep with one of her professors. There is clearly nothing unethical about it at all. In fact...I think they should get married. Right now.'

The old man's eyes were twinkling so brightly that everyone in the first few rows had to avert their gazes for fear of retinal damage. Professor Snape stood up. 'Albus,' he cried, 'you are truly wise. I would be delighted to marry Miss Granger, as she is undoubtedly the best shag I have ever had, and therefore we are clearly soulmates.'

Hermione beamed in delight and made her way up to the head table to embrace Snape. She got hair-grease all over her robes, but she didn't mind. Love is blind.

Dumbledore ushered the pair over to stand at the front of the hall and promptly performed a marriage ceremony that involved a small bonfire, lots of Latin incantations and a circle of dancing goats. Snape kissed Hermione tenderly, and she immediately became pregnant with thirteen babies.

Back at the Gryffindor table, Neville was vomiting into a jug of pumpkin juice at the thought of anyone shagging Snape, and Harry was curled in a ball, sobbing at the implausibility of it all.

Hermione simply stood with her arm around her new husband, beaming and patting her belly. Snape looked at her lovingly.

'I hope we have lots of babies,' he said. 'I love babies.'

Somewhere off in the distance, a poodle howled at the moon. And they all lived happily ever after.

THE END

A/N: feel free to review, but be warned that it will only encourage me. That is all.


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